


The Death Bouquet

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Background Logicality - Freeform, Background Prinxiety - Freeform, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, flower boy can go a little a feral... as a treat, horrible exes, irresponsibly bad but justified floral arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: The dos and don’ts of floral arrangement.
Relationships: Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Dr. Emile Picani, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 236





	The Death Bouquet

**Author's Note:**

> the remile meet cute flowershop au that i deserve
> 
> For the prompt:
> 
> "It looks like you like Remile and flowers, so I was wondering if you've done that prompt where it's like Emile owns/works at a flower shop, and Remy comes storming in, slams a fifty on the counter, and asks how to say fuck you in flower?" (from an anon)
> 
> partially inspired by [this ask](https://hexalene.tumblr.com/post/177213715991/found-you-through-your-florist-stories-is-there-a) from tumblr user hexalene but I could not resist putting a few spins of my own on the bouquet because, as you may have noticed, I really like flowers
> 
> and thank you to my friend helena for beta-reading!

Emile had to admit that working through grad school was tough, but if he _had_ to do it, he wouldn’t have picked anywhere other than Rainbow Bouquet.

Because really, who didn’t like flowers? There was nothing quite like a bouquet of fresh, happy-looking blossoms to brighten up someone’s day. Even on the more solemn occasions Emile had to make floral arrangements for, the ones that made his heart hurt a little - the funerals and the hospital visits and the sympathy cards - what better way to try and cheer someone up than their own little garden in a jar?

So yeah, Emile wouldn’t have picked anywhere else to work. And it certainly didn’t hurt that his Uncle Patton owned the store, and ensured that the little pronoun charm on his necklace would always be respected, _or else._ Nobody expected it, but Uncle Patton _could_ be scary - and he didn’t hold a candle to his husband. Emile almost wouldn’t wish both of them on a transphobe at the same time.

Almost.

The bell above the doorway jingled, and Emile turned to face it with a bright smile.“Hi, welcome to Rainbow Bouquet, how can I-”

Emile felt a very strange combination of butterflies in his tummy and a not-insignificant amount of fear as a furiously irate and shockingly handsome man crossed the room with a scowl on his face and slammed a fifty down on the table.

“- help you?” said Emile, strangled.

“I need a bouquet that says ‘fuck you’ in flower,” said the man, clearly enraged.

“… Um,”

“… Please,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “I- sorry, I’m just- I’m kind of _out of my mind_ pissed, right now,”

“I’m sorry…” said Emile, frowning.

“Not your fault, sugar,” came the reply, along with a dazzling, megawatt smile that made Emile’s stomach do a big old swoop up into his ribs.

“I- um,” Emile stammered.

“Fuck, I’m-”

The man made that same motion through his hair again, letting out a frustrated huff.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, barging in here, I- I’m Remy. I’m usually not an asshole, but I’m having a very bad day,”

He reached across the table, offering his hand to shake.

“Uh- I’m Emile,” he replied, taking the offered hand, “Nice to meet you,”

Remy snorted.

“Somehow I doubt that,” he laughed.

Emile frowned again.

“Um- I don’t really know anything about flower language,” he said sheepishly, “That’s more my Uncle Logan’s thing. If you want I can give you a call when he gets in, or-?”

“No, I-” said Remy, “That’s okay. It’s- what’s the point anyway; this was a stupid idea,”

Biting his lip, Emile took in the suddenly dejected posture, the tense line of Remy’s shoulders and the frustrated misery practically radiating off him.

“… Sir,” he said, hesitantly, “I- I know it’s none of my business, but- can I ask why you want a bouquet that, um- swears?”

Remy gave him a brittle smile.

“I just got an invitation to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” he said flatly, “To the guy he cheated on me with,”

Emile took a sharp inhale.

“Yeah,” said Remy, laughing humorlessly.

“Oh, he did _not_ ,” said Emile quietly.

“He did!” said Remy, throwing his arms out, “He did, in fact, do that! The bastard.”

Emile hesitated for another moment before squaring his shoulder, placing his hands on his hips and making an indignant noise.

“Come to the back,” he said, “I don’t know the flower language stuff but I do know _flowers_ \- and I am about to make the most evil bouquet ever,”

Remy laughed, stunned, as Emile turned and opened up the little door for him to come back, following hesitantly.

“Evil bouquet, huh?”

“The Evilest,” said Emile, nodding solemnly, “Regular monster bouquet- Bouquet of Hatred.”

Remy laughed again, and Emile gave him a smile back, pleased.

Flowers were supposed to make people happy - and if making Remy happy meant Emile was gonna have to ruin a very rude person’s day, he was pretty okay with that.

“Is there a reason I’m coming back here with you?” said Remy, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb at the employees only sign.

“I want you to know what I’m doing,” said Emile, airily, “So you can get maximum enjoyment out of just how badly I’m about to ruin your ex’s life,”

Remy snickered and Emile elbowed him, grinning. He started going through the coolers, grabbing handfuls of fillers and bringing them back up to the work table.

“Okay,” said Emile, “We are abandoning all floral arrangement sense here, so please don’t take this as a demonstration of my skill,”

“I’ll do my best,” said Remy, his eyes tracking Emile as he flitted from cooler to cooler, picking out everything he’d need.

“Alrighty,” said Emile, clapping when he had everything he needed on the table, “What do you see?”

“A lot of yellow flowers,“ said Remy flatly, but he was still smiling, so Emile was calling it a win, "And some blue ones.”

“True,” said Emile solemnly, “But also not true - this is the making of the worst bouquet in history,”

“Oh, tell me more, _please,_ ” said Remy immediately.

Emile pointed to the two kinds of yellow roses.

“Mermaid climbing roses,” he said, “And thorny Saharas. Horrible. Cut my hands on them at least once a week. We usually trim off the thorns, but guess what we are very much _not_ doing today?”

“You have my _undivided_ attention,” said Remy, beaming.

“These,” continued Emile, “Are misty blues, also called sea-lavender - do you want to know why?”

“I absolutely do.”

“Because they smell like dead fish!” said Emile brightly.

Remy burst into giggles, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“These are thistles,” said Emile, “Self explanatory. These are dusty miller flower greens, which I hate because they’re weak and floppy and get soggy really easy, but that’s gonna be fantastic for us today. These little white ones are baby’s breath and chamomile, and these are daffodils,”

Emile grabbed a pair of gloves so as to not, yet again, slice himself open on the horrible roses, and started the arrangement.

“So first, fillers,” he said, picking out bits of greenery, baby’s breath, and chamomile, “As dense as possible. We’re gonna throw in a few demon roses and the misty blues, but mostly green stuff and we’re gonna keep them as damp and miserable as possible while we do it.”

He sprayed the stems down with a nearby water spritzer to demonstrate.

“Next, thistles, at exactly grabbing height.”

“I see where you’re going with this,” said Remy, leaning against the worktop and giving the misty blues a sniff and an immediate nose wrinkle.

“On the outside, the roses and the daffodils,” said Emile, “The roses are gonna make this thing as angry as Rose Quartz’s garden and the daffodils have a secret only florists know- they give most people a really unpleasant rash my uncle calls Daffodil Itch. It’s why we never use them on the outside of wedding bouquets.”

As Emile continued to poke and prod the bouquet, jamming as many flowers into the already cramped “handle” as he could manage, he kept talking.

“When baby’s breath dies, you can never tell. They’ll dry out but they’ll look just as pretty as ever, but then as soon as you touch ‘em – _poof!_ Flower glitter bomb of dead petals and leaves _everywhere._ Chamomile is an aster, and everyone’s allergic to those.”

“I don’t think Percy’s allergic to any flowers,”

“Trust me,” said Emile, “Everyone is at least a _little_ allergic to asters, especially up close and personal.”

Remy curiously reached out to poke the bouquet, and Emile gingerly pushed his hand away with a giggle.

“When I say hazard I mean it, careful there.”

Carefully, Emile bound the bouquet stems in a bit of ribbon and propped it up in a nearby vase.

“Huh,” said Remy, “It looks… kinda nice.”

“The pretty is a lie,” said Emile, pointing ominously, “But! I am going to write a note for it, attached when it gets delivered. Very sweet and heartfelt.”

“I suspect that’s something you’re good at,” said Remy.

Emile ignored the flush that rose to his cheeks.

“It’s going to be _so_ sweet,” he pressed on, “And the bouquet is so deceptively pretty that your horrible ex will feel obligated to keep this monstrosity. And even if he doesn’t, that first moment when he grabs it his hands will meet the thorny destruction only known by enemies of Perfuma, right before it gives him a rash that he’s probably not gonna figure out came from the flowers, because he’s not gonna want to hold this thing for very long at all.”

“You know I have no idea what you’re talking about with these references, right?”

“I’m pretty used to that!” said Emile cheerfully, “But _when_ he keeps it - because he will, I am very good at pulling heartstrings – the bouquet will stay pretty looking for _ages_. The roses and daffodils are on the outside, getting air and light, and water if he puts them in a vase, but all those miserable little fillers we sprayed with water will secretly turn moldy and very incredibly gross. And with those misty blues in there, this thing is going to stink like Pepe Le Pew.”

“Still lost.”

“That’s okay,” said Emile, patting him on the arm, “Here’s what you need to know – this awful thing is gonna sit in his house and _mildew,_ for weeks, before he figures out the smell is coming from the flowers. The chamomile will make it worse, itchy-eyes everywhere and once he figures it out the glitter bomb baby’s breath comes in. This bouquet isn’t just going to ruin his day, it’s gonna ruin his whole _month._ ”

Emile gestured grandly.

“And that is the best way I can think of to say ‘eff you’ in flower.”

Remy gave him a short round of amused but seemingly genuine applause.

“I have to admit, that all sounds pretty damn terrible.”

“ _So_ terrible,” said Emile, “My uncles would have aneurysms if they saw this thing.”

Remy grimaced.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble, are you? You’re sweet as peach pie, that’s the last thing I want.”

Emile felt his face burn with yet another blush, and the corner of Remy’s mouth twitched.

“I doubt it,” said Emile, “Especially if I tell them why. Uncle Logan once dragged a guy who refused to stop hitting on me out the door by his collar - they have pretty rigid standards for acceptable behavior, and I _really_ don’t think your ex meets them at _all.”_

“I’m assuming he has to throw out people hitting on you a lot?”

Emile’s blush went from a smoke alarm to a DEFCON 1.

And then, _adorably,_ Remy’s face also lit up scarlet.

“Oh my god,” he whined quietly, “Why did I say that?”

Emile giggled nervously.

“Um- it’s okay, I, uh- don’t mind.”

Remy smiled, and it looked like he was maybe trying for suave and landing squarely in ‘nervous as all heck.’

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” squeaked Emile, “You- you seem. Sweet.”

Remy huffed a little giggle of his own, rubbing the back of his neck.

They stood in incredibly awkward silence, occasionally broken by nervous giggles, staring at each other like total goofballs, for several long moments.

And that was when Uncle Logan walked in the back door.

He paused in the doorway, raising one brow and looking between the two of them.

“Emile,” he deadpanned, “Do I want to know?”

Emile – who realized he had started leaning much closer to Remy than was really appropriate for a customer service relationship – stepped back from him, his face still crimson. He glanced at Remy, then his uncle, pointing at the bouquet.

“Evil ex,” he said solemnly, “I made an evil bouquet.”

Logan stared for several moments.

“… How evil?”

“Cheated on me, then invited me to their wedding,” Remy grimaced, shoving his hands in his pocket.

Logan hummed.

“The bouquet is free,” he said. “Did you use the last of the Sahara roses?”

“Yessiree I did,” said Emile cheerfully as Remy immediately started sputtering.

“Excellent,” said Logan, coming over to inspect the bouquet. “Wrap it in tissue paper, not foil.”

“I- sir, I really appreciate it, but I’m definitely paying for the bouquet,” said Remy.

“No, you most definitely are not,” said Logan, reaching over to pat Remy on the shoulder, “Please provide Emile with the delivery address while I locate the blue tissue paper.”

Logan walked off to the cupboards, while Remy turned to Emile and gestured hysterically.

“Uncle Logan is a genius,” Emile said seriously, grabbing the delivery forms from under the table. “If you try to pay him he’ll just figure out a way to refund you – you might as well agree now.”

“He doesn’t even know me!”

“And,” said Emile reasonably, “He might bring in my other uncle and they’ll gang up on you. You’ll lose, trust me.”

Huffing, Remy crossed his arms and gave Emile an unimpressed look.

“What happened to ‘the customer is always right’?”

“You aren’t a customer, because you are not purchasing the bouquet,” Logan called across the room.

“Is your _whole_ family this diabolical?”

“My cousin Virgil once hacked all the computers in his high school to print out protest pamphlets at the same time, so… yeah, I guess,” said Emile, offering Remy the delivery form.

Gaping for several moments, Remy looked from the form to Emile and backed, before letting out a stunned laugh and taking it.

“That’s an… interesting family you’ve got there.”

“Thank you!”

Remy finished the form just as Logan retrieved the tissue paper and called across the room again.

“Emile, can you bring the flowers here?”

Emile gingerly grabbed the jar, not the bouquet itself, and carried it over to Logan. Logan took the tissue paper and carefully camouflaged the thorns on the evil bouquet.

“So,” he said very quietly, “Are you going to give the nice young man your phone number, or should I give it to him?”

Emile whacked him on the arm, furtively looking over his shoulder to make sure Remy hadn’t heard.

“Shush! Oh my goodness, don’t even.”

“I met Patton in the flower shop,” said Logan lightly, “Your cousin met Roman. It is practically a tradition.”

“ _Logan!”_ Emile hissed.

“So I’m doing it?”

“Oh my _gosh,_ no!” said Emile, “I- okay, _fine_ , I’ll do it but if it weirds him out I’m blaming you.”

“A reasonable agreement.”

Logan placed the bouquet on the delivery queue table and steered Emile by the shoulder back over to Remy, who was shuffling sort of awkwardly and scuffing his feet on the linoleum.

“So-” said Emile, steeling himself.

“If I try to give your nephew my number are you gonna throw me out of the store?” Remy blurted.

Emile made an honest to goodness _squeak_ , and Logan started _radiating_ smugness beside him.

“No,” he said, “I will not.”

“Okay,” said Remy, strangled, “Great.”

Logan actually _offered Remy a pen_ out of his shirt pocket and Emile just about died right there on the spot. Snatching it out of his hand, Emile grabbed Remy by the wrist and dragged him back to the storefront, his face on fire.

There was another moment of quiet staring before Emile realized he was still holding on to Remy and quickly dropped his arm.

“So, uh… may I?” said Remy in a choked voice, gesturing to the pen.

Emile handed it over with his own little inarticulate and choked reply. Remy carefully took his hand and scrawled the digits on Emile’s wrist.

“Thanks for the, um- hate bouquet,” said Remy quietly, “And the little – run down, it was. Really cute.”

Emile made a noise that was supposed to be ‘thank you’ but came out sounding more like a deflating balloon.

Remy giggled, which made Emile laugh too, and eventually they’d both dissolved into hysterical snickering, their hands still clasped.

It took several more minutes of unwilling goodbyes and stammered ‘have a good days’ and goofy giggling before Remy actually managed to leave the store, casting a soft look and a wave over his shoulder as he walked through the door with a cheerful _jingle_ of the bell.

“Should I plan for an extra place setting at dinner on Friday?” came a sudden voice behind him.

“Oh my goodness, _no!_ ” exclaimed Emile, turning around and shoving his smirking uncle. “No! We haven’t even been on _one date,_ Logan, oh my gosh why are you like this?”

“I successfully predicted both Patton and my own’s eventually long-term involvement as well as Virgil and Roman’s – I have the data.”

“There’s no _data.”_

“Increased blood flow to your face, an inability to communicate articulately, a lack of discretion in bringing a customer into the back room – although that could have been based in altruism rather than infatuation-”

“ _Logan!”_

“Come here, let me observe your heart rate-”

Emile bolted, expertly dodging his uncle’s attempts at ‘observation’ and laughing in spite of himself. He wasn’t going to admit it, but honestly – he _did_ get the feeling his uncle was onto something.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me over on tumblr @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors !


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